A Thousand Cranes
by Shriayle
Summary: (Not mainly Percabeth) Drew never felt like she belonged anywhere. As a fearsome new threat sweeps through camp, she is left with nothing but an ominous prophecy to lead her path. What she doesn't know is that she's the sole child of Peitho, placed under Aphrodite's care for reasons that will soon come to light. Post-TLO, OOC!Drew. Rated T for language and gore.
1. Prologue: Words of the Past

**Upon further consideration, I've decided to elaborate on the decisions I made to call this story an 'angst'. There are no agonizing feelings or despairs in this story, at least, not to the forefront that would set that kind of 'angst' as the genre. Rather, this is based on a literary 'angst', as the main question behind our main character's motive is 'Who am I?' And, though there is no way of classifying it as such, this is a bildungsroman or coming of age story.**

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><p>Once upon a time, in the distant future, a blind bard holds up his lyre and hums to himself, finding the rhythm of the story he chooses to convey next. He closed his unseeing eyes and allows the unfamiliar words to course through his throat, as if guided by some holy hand.<p>

_Tell me of the one, Muse, the one who knew not herself..._

_surrounded by prophecies' heroes, not known well among those from_

_the buildings of false Greece._

_Many lives of others she saved and learned their hearts,_

_much agony she experienced, watching from afar_

_fighting to save their lives and bring their comrades home._

_But she could not save all from the eternal sleep, desperate as she was,_

_their valor and self-imposed hubris blinded them all_

_the wise fools, they journeyed far past the land of the living_

_and none but the Deathgod could predict their return._

_Begin on her story, Muse, she who knows all things immortal and mortal,_

_start from where you will- sing for us as well..._

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><p>Once upon a time, in a land unknown by the Greeks and Romans, there was a dying girl. She didn't know how she came to become so close to the grace of death, but she got there. Breathing slowing, bodily functions grinding into a steady trickle rather than the enthusiastic burst it once was. How she got to that point isn't recorded either, but it was said she was dying of a broken heart. That doesn't matter. What matters was that she was dying.<p>

The girl was cordial to death. It was a time far back, more than a thousand-thousand years, beyond that of modern medicine and life-saving machines. There was no way that she could have survived at all, with the primitive knowledge of the period. She knew that, and she embraced it, lying there on the bamboo tatami. She shivered and moaned slightly, but she knew that with the help from the gods, she would die solemnly, get buried under a peach blossom tree, and nurture the earth she was born from.

As she suffered, a rich-looking gentleman in a robe of scarlet with golden embroidery came in. He was handsome, yes, but in the older man, kindly eyed sort of way. His hair was already turning white in some places, and his eyes were glittering and calculating, yet comforting. The girl felt herself relax at the sight of him. He had a genuine aura, one that vibrated with life, one that she felt obligated to cling to.

_"My poor girl,"_ the man mused, _"you must be suffering much. Do you rage against the gods for giving you such a blight? I would imagine that one as young as you would be tortured by anger for having your life cut short so soon."_

_"No, sir,"_ she replied honestly, and he could read the honesty in her heart. _"I am grateful that they gave me the opportunity to live, and I will give back to the earth, now that the gods have decided that I must go." _A haze of fear swept over her eyes at the thought of death, but it soon faded and was replaced by a steady resignation and determination.

Her parents had entered the room after the magnificent stranger, and now they began to cry.

The man merely grinned at her, showing off a mouth with barely any teeth. _"Are you certain, my girl?"_ he asked again. _"You would not rage against the gods for giving you such a blight?" _His serious words were offset by the rather silly smile he held on his face.

The girl tried to respond, but first she had to somehow control her hacking coughs, which sent her body into feverish tremors and reduced her to a trembling mass of cloth, hair, and skin. _"Sir, I know not where you come from, but I was raised to respect the ancestors and their choices for my life. If I am to die today, so be it! I shall die and join my wise ancestors, and give my body back to the earth from whence it came." _And the man saw the emotion in her eyes: some anger, all determination.

The man laughed joyously. It was a clear, pure sound, not one that was completely human, with a slight whistle at the end. _"Well done, my girl! You have passed the test. If you fold one thousand cranes before you die, you will reemerge from your death bed shining, healthy, and cleansed once again, and you shall live for a hundred years more. Once you have a thousand cranes, have your mother call out like a crane, and you shall be saved."_

With that, the stranger walked out of the house. The girl could see a crane suddenly appear in front of the window, give a clear trill, and fly away.

For weeks and weeks, the girl became obsessed with the cranes. When she ate, her parents had to spoon soup and rice into her mouth as she folded and folded. Her parents begged her to sleep when the moon came up and the stars shone, and she struggled to stay awake, the paper cutting into her fingers' skin. Her mother saw all of the cranes piling up around her daughter's weak hands and began to weave them into thin chains of birds with her capable fingers. Even as her hands' grip began to weaken, the girl kept on folding the cranes, determined to get to a thousand.

As her parents saw her strength begin to fade, they too began folding cranes, anything to please the girl. They folded and folded, and when guests came over, they pleaded for the guests to fold with them.

Soon, they had the thousand cranes, but the girl was too tired to move. She could barely finish the last one when her father heard her breathing begin to turn to nothing. Frantically, he shouted for his wife, watching his daughter helplessly. She was dying before his very eyes.

The wife tried to trill like the crane, but her voice was too choked up to do it. She tried again and again, but to no avail. When she could finally get the note to sound good enough, clear and rich enough to even attempt resembling the trill of that magnificent bird, it was almost too late; the girl looked resigned to her fate.

_"Good-bye, mother, father," _she said with her last few breaths. _"It was an honor to be your daughter. I shall watch over you with the ancestors."_

As her last breath left her body, the crane alighted. The bird landed in front of the window and soon afterwards, the gentleman walked into the room. He looked at the girl, who looked like she was sleeping, at the helpless parents, who were sobbing on her shoulder, at the strings and strings of cranes that had been laid about carefully around the girl.

The gentleman walked forward and cried, _"Awaken! Rejoice, for you sleep not anymore!" _He raised his right hand and gave one sharp, commanding cry, one that sounded like the call-to-arms of the crane. He raised his other hand and cried again.

With that, the girl's body turned into that of a crane chick before her disbelieving parents' eyes. The gentleman himself turned into a beautiful crane, his robes melting into a pure white plumage, with a black beak and a spot of red jauntily on his head. He looked at the stumbling chick and trilled one note. The girl-crane looked at him, looked at her body, looked at her parents. She looked at them one last time before responding with a shriller yet still musical trill and leaving the house, flying away with the gentleman-crane.

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><p>Aphrodite didn't know what to think when one of her dearest friends burst through her doors, practically in tears. The Oriental-appearing woman looked frantic, incapable of anything else.<p>

"Rodi, Rodi, please, you've got to help me!" the goddess said, sounding completely panicked. Aphrodite didn't know what the woman in front of her was talking about, so she just gave her the most confused look she could come up with.

"Peitho, take a deep breath and try to explain to me what you're talking about _more clearly_." The serious tone in her voice was somewhat unwelcome; she was too used to cooing at others. Or whispering.

The goddess slumped over, taking two heaving breaths. It was only then that Aphrodite noticed the bundle in her arms. Curiously, Aphrodite leaned over and parted some of the cloth.

A little girl, her appearance constantly shifting in front of Aphrodite's eyes, stared back at her. There was a distinct aura of power surrounding the child, and her skin glowed ever so slightly. Almost like that of a...

"Peitho, since when did you mother children?" Aphrodite asked, her musical voice becoming sharp. If the child was what she thought it was, then this wasn't a good thing at all.

Peitho stifled a sob. "It wasn't on purpose! He-he-"

"Don't tell me that the goddess of seduction got seduced," Aphrodite said, sounding both stern and amused at the same time. "I know you better, Pei."

"Well, yes, I love him, but we can't take care of her! It just doesn't work out?"

"Who is it, Peitho?"

"One of the ancient ones," Peitho said, her voice sounding hoarse as she clutched the babe in her arms more desperately to herself. Aphrodite felt a lump in her throat form; of _course_ it couldn't just be a demigod. It had to be a celestial being, an Original One that captured her friend's heart. "One of the ones that we are not supposed to know are still alive. If the Creator, nay, if even _Zeus_ knew of her existence, then she would be smote down without any question, and me along with her!"

Aphrodite's eyes widened at the claim. If the child was indeed born of a primordial, than Zeus would of course deem her dangerous and snuff her little life out, the paranoid man. The love goddess hesitantly held out a finger to the little girl. The baby giggled and clutched it, squeezing it gently.

Aphrodite felt herself slowly falling in love with the baby girl. Her heart clenched in sympathy for the innocent eyes that gazed at her.

"I-I shouldn't be doing this, I should _not_ be doing this," she muttered to herself before looking at Peitho.

Her friend's eyes shone with (dare she admit it?) hope mixed in with the despair.

"A-alright, Peitho," Aphrodite said, carefully taking the finger out of the baby's grip (it had just been manicured!). "I'll claim her. I'll say that she's the child of my current lover."

Peitho's eyes filled completely with the hope that Aphrodite had wished she only imagined earlier.

"Rodi, thank you, thank you!" Peitho said, looking at her baby one last time before looking at Aphrodite. Her expression fell dramatically as she realized what she had to do now.

"Mama loves you," Peitho murmured, stroking her baby's stomach once to hear the happy gurgle one last time. "Mama always loves you, okay?"

Aphrodite didn't rush the scene in front of her. She merely took the baby into her arms when Peitho finally gave her up. Peitho gave the bundle one last lachrymose look before nodding to Aphrodite, still teary, and bursting out of the door.

The love goddess watched sadly as Peitho ran through the gardens haphazardly surrounding Aphrodite's mansion to prevent anyone from seeing her. She turned to the little baby in her arms.

"Well, you'll have to take on a more permanent appearance now, little one," she said, carefully weaving her finger in the air. The baby's features began to settle into an Asian appearance, with the pale skin that Aphrodite and her current lover, a man named Mark Tanaka, shared at times. Her eyes were the admittedly stereotypical almond-shaped orbs that adorned many Oriental faces, but ever so slightly wider than typical, wide enough to seem different. Aphrodite noticed a slight golden glimmer to their dark brown depths. Residue from her true parentage, the goddess reasoned. She didn't look quite like Mark; in fact, she still resembled Peitho's current look. It was good enough for now. The child might ask questions later, but Mark could easily fend off those same questions by saying they were genes from her mother, the mother she would never know.

"Peitho never told me your name," Aphrodite said in a conversational manner, "and I can't keep calling you 'little one', though, it does fit, doesn't it?" The baby giggled again, squirming slightly.

"Well, your new father," Aphrodite winced at the implication, "not that you've lost your true father, but you are to grow up with this man, you might as well view him as father, no? Anyhow, he is of Japanese descent, and he's always telling me this story of folding a thousand cranes and being able to live an extra thousand years. An odd anecdote, don't you think? One that the mortals would indeed think of. It seems to fit you though; you're going to get a new life, who knows how long it will last. And in his language, one of many girls' names is 'Chizumi', or 'girl of a thousand cranes'. It fits you, doesn't it?"

The newly dubbed Chizumi giggled and stretched out a hand again. Aphrodite cheerfully poked the little baby's nose, causing another round of giggles.

"A cute one, are you?" Aphrodite whispered, feeling herself fall more and more in love with the child. "Is that from your mother or your father?"

The baby spat bubbles and smiled cutely, showing off a mouth with no teeth, just gum. As Aphrodite smiled down at her, she waved a finger in the air, binding the baby's nascent powers, the ones that made her seem more than mortal, to her body. It pained her to do it, but it had to be done. At best, she could claim that she chose the girl as her champion; at worst, she didn't know what she would do. Aphrodite wove her spell carefully, watching to make sure that the powers that the infant carried within her would slowly develop as the girl grew older, only solidifying when she was of a good age to be immortalized, as she would have to be.

"Well, we can't always have you called Chizumi, can we? The significance of the name will be gone just like _that!_" She snapped with her free hand, much to the baby's delight. "So we'll have to call you something else."

Aphrodite began to think deeply before looking as though she had an epiphany. "We could call you Andromeda, Drew for short. Because I'm sure there's already an 'Andi' demigod right now, and Drew is such a cute little name! A cute name for a cute baby!"

The now dubbed Drew looked up at Aphrodite with curious eyes.

"You're right, Drew!" Aphrodite was getting more and more proud of that name as every second passed. "You have to meet your father now."

Aphrodite carefully looked around to ensure that no one was watching her before closing her eyes and phasing out of her location, appearing in Mark's apartment.

The business intern jumped in surprise when he saw his girlfriend suddenly appear in front of him. "Aphrodite! You're back? Did you forget something?" He noticed the baby in her arms.

"This is Chizumi Andromeda," Aphrodite said quietly. "And before you ask, she's not mine and yours. She is the child of one of my dearest friends, and she could get into a lot of trouble for mothering this child. She asked me to take her daughter away and save her from the same pain, in case she is found."

Mark blinked. He didn't expect to be, well, a _father_ so soon. He knew that intercourse typically resulted in pregnancy when it was between a mortal and an immortal; Aphrodite herself had told him that. She had even been as cautious as possible with her protection, just in case such a pregnancy were to occur, as Mark would have to care for the child alone. His internship was not quite enough to support two people as of yet. Now she was coming to him with a child and asking for him to care for her, even though she knew of the divine laws?

"Dite," he said hesitantly, "is this the only way? I'm still not sure how financially stable my job is, after all."

"I can compensate for her, just, please, care for this one as though she were your own," Aphrodite said, holding the bundle out beseechingly.

Mark bit the inside of his cheek before taking the bundle with uncertain hands. He looked at the baby in his arms.

She looked Japanese enough to fit with the story, with a golden shimmer to her eyes that made her seem almost unworldly. And there was a slight aura that even Mark, a clear-sighted mortal but mortal nonetheless, could see emanating from her little form. It shone out of the little baby's form, filling the air with a slightly heady feeling and a tendency to fall in love with her at first glance.

Aphrodite knew that Mark was besotted with the little girl after five minutes, the way that she had been. "I'm sorry, take care of Drew for me," she whispered, walking backwards and turning into a shower of rose petals in front of his eyes.

Mark looked blankly at the place where his girlfriend's body literally vaporized before the little girl in his arms, Chizumi Andromeda "Drew" as Aphrodite called her, squirmed and let out a tiny chirp. She was hungry.

He busied himself with creating a makeshift bottle for her with an empty water bottle and a handkerchief. When he finally got the mechanism to work properly and had the baby gulping down some warmed-up milk, he leaned back and sighed in relief. Drew had gone straight to sleep after finishing her milk. A well-behaved baby, it seemed. He looked wistfully out of the window at the full moon, at the silvery light carefully filtering in. He had a baby nestled into his arms, a new daughter, and only the future to look forward to.

Congrats, dad.

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><p><strong>Well. First Percy Jackson fic is a go, I guess.<strong>

**So I'm not sure how this storyline is going to go down with a bunch of people. I know that it's usually Percy who's the 'more than mortal' 'all-powerful' character. And I thought that Drew needed more limelight than just the air-headed girl she is in the series. Please, give the story a chance, I guess. Throw out all of your prior (probably true) conceptions about Drew and who she is. Let Chizumi prove herself in this story as someone outside of that giggly Asian that we all love to hate.**

** So here we go. Welcome to ****_A Thousand Cranes_****.**

**The beginning in italics was slightly paraphrased from Robert Fagles's translation of ****_The Odyssey_****, and the 'myth' was something I came up with. There is no written record of a girl turning into a crane in Japanese myth. Peitho is an EXTREMELY minor Greek goddess and is usually described as the personification of seduction. If you want to know why she looks Asian of all things, there was a survey done on online dating that I read about in which Asian-American women were the most 'checked-out' of all of the different kinds of races. So yeah. Fits with Peitho, _n'est-ce pas?_**

**~Shriayle**


	2. Prologue: Childhood Begun

**Wow, I'm bad at updating :P Give me a bit more leeway to try and get back into the habit of updating semi-regularly.**

**If you have anything to ask that's not specifically about _A Thousand Cranes_, I have an ask. fm that I have a link to on my profile. I check the questions there a bit more often, so your answers will come quicker.**

**I've set up a requests account now! It's called Requests for Shriayle (original, I know) and a link to it is in my profile now. Feel free to send in all of your ideas, I guess :) I will write them up whenever I come up with ideas for them.  
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**Replies:**

**ClarisseLaRue-DaughterOfAres: **Your penname is interesting :D And THANKS! |=| **Maiannaise: **Yaaaayyyy it's started :D |=| **IAILA: **I've never seen Teen Wolf, but from the pictures I saw, yes Derek Hale is bae. And awwww your dedication to my stories is lovely and I love you :) YES I GOT THE SISTER IN LOKI'S ARMY WHOO IF YOUR SISTER SEES THIS, TELL HER I SAY HI xD I see a sad lack of Asian characters in general, which means that I need to make some stories about them yes. Also fellow Asian-American unite with me (I'm full Korean) and hapa people are in general rather good-looking, from what I know among my friends. And EVERYONE IS DYING. I'm not even exaggerating. There be much death planned for this story. |=| **BadAssTwilightGirls: **Thanks for your help, btw. I just credited you in my profile for both stories haha. And DIVERSITY *throws confetti* |=| **I am the Story Teller: **It's nice that you've come along, no matter how late it seems :) And I try to not disappoint, it's my job. |=|

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><p>"Daddy! Daddy!"<p>

Mark sighed inwardly at the broken calls for him. He turned to see a little three-year old girl sobbing as she stumbled towards him. Her clothes, once so pristine and well-kept, were wrinkled and dirty, and she smelled of sewage and the earthy mud she was liberally coated in. Her face was covered in dirt except for two perfect lines where her tears had cleaned her cheeks. Her eyes were still their dark brown, though they now had a slight reddish tinge, as well as the golden specks garnishing the irises that refused to go away. They were scintillating, almost glowing behind the tears. They seemed to shimmer in the light, which could be seen as both dangerous and alluring.

It had been years since Mark had last seen Aphrodite. He knew of the divine laws that kept them apart, knew that even the support he got for his little Drew was more than enough to potentially anger the Olympian Council, especially Zeus. He thanked her every day under his breath for his success, success that she surely had a hand in creating. He had somehow seemed to get out of his internship early, acing almost everything that he had tried, and his success as a magistrate was growing with every passing day. Mark Tanaka was living quite a good life.

Drew's life was another story. She was just a little too unworldly, a little too beautiful, a little too ethereal, just overall a little too different for the other children. They shunned her, despite her attempts to make friends. She would smile brightly at them, and for one second they were transfixed and wanted to get along with her. Another child, one that wasn't affected by her charisma, would then push her over, breaking the spell, and the first child would laugh at her face and kick her into the dirt, and the cycle would repeat every day. Drew was powerless to stop them. She had always felt an inner pull, something inside her that flared up with her anger, that tried to escape its bonds, to break free and strike at her tormentors and throw them into the ground, but it was always quickly placated and left her sniveling in the dust, feeling weak and as much of a misfit as the rest. She hated it.

That wasn't to say that she was universally hated. Just universally ignored.

_(which is worse?)_

"Daddy, I got another hurt place," Drew said both plainly and plaintively, holding out one arm in particular. She bent it to illustrate her point. As Mark watched, a scraped cut on her elbow slowly and steadily bled out a slightly translucent, goldish-red liquid, viscous as it slid down her porcelain skin. It looked like blood, and yet not quite so. It swirled and almost shimmered in the light, a peculiar effect that made the liquid resemble paint more than anything else.

_(he still had no idea why)_

"Oh no! We can't have our little Drew hurt now, can we?" Mark said dramatically, coaxing the tiniest of smiles onto Drew's upset face. Her father had always been the light in her life, the one thing that tied her to the world of ignorant people surrounding her. When the other children shoved her away, he was there to embrace her and comfort her. It was a pleasant sensation, being loved. His kind brown eyes shone as he gently took her stinging arm and guided her into the house. "Let's spray some medicine on that and put a band-aid on it, yeah?" She nodded brightly at his upbeat tone.

If only others knew how to feel the same way.

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><p>Mark was terrified. Completely terrified.<p>

Drew had come to him trembling, blubbering about large, muscular men with only one cold, blue eye carved into their foreheads. They had approached her with large clubs and snickers, ready to turn her into mush.

"But I told them to stop and go away and hit each other and then they did it! It was really weird. I didn't think they would listen to me," she was now babbling, her tears having long since dried and her mouth twitching into a facsimile of a smile. She was trying to be happy so he wouldn't be scared and worried for her anymore. Bless her little heart.

"Did you, now?" Mark asked, finally noticing an odd detail in her story. She asked them to hit each other and they complied? In what universe did two monsters, burly Cyclopes at that, choose to attack each other just because some young demi-whatever-Drew-was told them to? "What did you say to them?"

The little girl (she couldn't have been over six years old) shrugged, pulled one of her pigtails back into shape, and played with the heart-shaped zipper on her light pink jacket. "I dunno. I just said 'Don't hit me! If you want to hit something, hit someone else! And go away!' and there was no one else there so they just started hitting each other and yelling and fighting and then they left. It was really scary! I thought that they were going to start hitting me after hitting each other. I thought they were pretending to hit each other to make me feel safe or something."

Mark felt himself begin to hyperventilate. Didn't Aphrodite say she tied Drew's powers down? He had never heard of such an ability awakening after lying dormant for so long in so young a demigod. Then again, he didn't know that much about demigods, let alone whatever-Drew-was. Maybe it was natural that she would grow into her gifts. That must be it. He hoped to the gods that was it.

"Daddy?"

Mark forced himself to snap out of his panic. Drew was staring at him with large, worried eyes.

"I'm fine, sweetie," he managed to say with a strained smile. "But Drew, it's not nice to tell people to hurt others."

"But they wanted to hurt me, Daddy!" Drew said, her eyes wide.

"Yes, but you become like them if you want them to get hurt. No matter how much you hate someone else, you should never wish them to be hurt or killed. That makes you the monster that they were to you. Always treat others the way you want to be treated, princess."

"I'm a princess!" Drew squealed, spinning around and giggling.

The wonders of a short-term attention span.

"Yes you are, Drew, you're my little princess," he said with a more genuine grin.

"Not little!" she insisted.

"Of course you aren't."

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><p>It was barely two months afterwards that the attacks came more frequently. Drew came home every day telling tales that a normal parent, one blind to the not so normal workings of the world, would probably disregard as the figments of one very bright child's imagination. After all, what kind of child could possibly describe a dog, larger than a moving truck, with eyes that glowed like the coals of a furnace an a growl darker and heavier than the lawnmowers that greeted her ears every Thursday morning, especially the exact smell of the dog's breath (like dead fish and gross mushrooms) and how Miss Resner seemed not to notice as she enthusiastically babbled on about the wonderful Erie Canal, complete with wild hand gestures? It seemed so otherworldly; many other parents would applaud their child's ingenuity, perhaps hand the confused kid a cookie and give him a patronizing pat on the back.<p>

Mark knew otherwise.

He knew that this would happen, that his precious daughter in all but blood (though she didn't know) would be hunted and attacked for her entire life. He could only wish that that didn't begin now. Now, when all she could do was tell them to go away with a forceful, persuasive voice and run back to him to tell him her latest story.

It terrified him more than ever. Her tales became larger than life, swirling in his incredulity and fueling his abject horror at the monsters that tried to overcome her. She would describe a lady with thick, inky black sunglasses whose hair seemed to quiver every so often and how she must have a teapot in her purse or something because there was an incessant hissing surrounding the lady's form. Drew created pictures in Mark's mind of beautiful women who seemed to drag their feet behind her, feet that were never seen but showed glimpses of odd snake-skin boots that never seemed to end on the women's legs. Once, Drew whispered to Mark about a cat the size of a child's bicycle that seemed to follow her around with the head of a human, snarling questions at her that Drew didn't know the answer to with unnecessary trivia like the thickest book in the world or the colors that came together to make green. Each story was more frightening than the last, and Mark didn't know when this entourage would ever end.

He knew only one thing. He had to see if there was a safer place for Drew to be than western New York. He would miss the snow, the humidity, the untamed natural places next to trimmed parks, but he knew that he would give anything up for his little Drew.

His Drew that wasn't really his.

But who was keeping track of that? Not Mark. He was just keeping track of all of the times his beautiful daughter had nearly been killed because the monsters had scented her out.

Mark sighed inwardly at all of the trouble he knew was going to come soon. He would have to start investigating without Aphrodite's guidance to lead his daughter to somewhere with more defenses than a wall of water that crashed down onto a river thousands of feet below. His work had earned him a less than modest income, as was seen in the rather large house that he and Drew inhabited with no one else. He could afford to take her far away, away from all of this craziness.

But Drew loved their home more than she feared the monsters. She loved the snowy winters, when she would catch burning-cold snow crystals on her tongue and feel them melt away, she loved the way her alabaster skin would begin to slowly tan during the summer and then fade away in the winter, she loved the autumn foliage that graced their presences every year without fail. She loved the little streets with the odd bead boutique and the somehow more than quintessential blue sky.

But she lost herself.

She didn't understand that she couldn't possibly look like the pale white shades with stringy blonde hair and wide, vacant blue eyes that terrorized her every day. She didn't understand why when she looked in the mirror, she didn't look like the most popular girl in her third grade class, with large orbs that clashed so strongly with her almond-shaped eyes. She saw her face in the mirror and jumped sometimes, not knowing that the girl she pictured that she was in her mind based on the girls she saw around her was not her. She was not the person she thought she was.

Drew was lost within herself, but she didn't even know that she was lost, which was the most tragic part of all, Mark thought.

_(because the first step to solving a problem is identifying that you have one)_

It wasn't only the monsters that took over Drew's psyche, rendering her unconfident and uncertain in her actions and attitudes.

It was herself.

She created her own bindings and shackles, weighing herself down with impossible expectations for how she acted and what her family was.

"Dad, where's Mom?" she remembered asking her father one day as a young(er) child.

He had coughed on the coffee that just tipped down his throat and sputtered into an uncomfortable silence as he tried to regain both his breath and his thoughts. Drew waited patiently for his response; she didn't know that it wasn't going to be the one she thought. She always thought that her mother was on a business trip, one that spanned years at a time with nary a phone call or a letter.

"Your mother, she, ah..." Mark stuttered to a halt, not sure of what to tell the innocent child in front of him. Was he to break her heart now so it could be rebroken later, or keep her in a haze of blank happiness with the mother she conjured in her mind?

"She's gone."

Drew blinked. It wasn't what she expected.

"Gone?" she repeated slowly.

Mark forced himself to nod. "She stayed until you were about three or four. We eloped, Drew. And when her father figured out, he made her go home and leave us. She must be married to someone that her father wanted her to at this point, one she doesn't really love." It was true enough; Aphrodite had enough mortal lovers to show Hephaestus that he didn't possess her love whatsoever. Then again, Hephaestus had his own collection of mortal women, though not as big as Aphrodite's 'harem'.

"Would she want to come back if her new husband didn't like her back?" Drew asked. "And what does 'elope' mean?"

"I don't know, Drew; we moved away from where we used to live, from where I met her and everything. And 'eloping' is running away with a boy you really like and choosing to marry him. It's a large decision, but if someone doesn't want you to marry him and you really want to, sometimes you decide to."

Drew nodded with the grave understanding that all seven year-olds possess.

"I'm never going to elope, because I know that you want me to be happy, and I want you there when I wear the big, white, poofy, lacy dress with the veil and a bou-kwet of flowers and-"

"It's pronounced 'boo-KAY', Drew," Mark corrected gently, smiling as his daughter waved her hand in the air dismissively, as if waving the correction away with the gentle wafts of air she produced, and continued on her rant about her ideal wedding.

His smile slowly faded as he realized the chance of her living long enough to marry was slimmer than the sheets of paper he had to read through every day at work.

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><p><strong>I wanted to add in one more episode, but it would work out better in the next chapter ;)<br>**

**Thanks for reading! Don't hesitate to review or PM me if anything is confusing/grammar is incorrect.**

**~Shriayle**


	3. Prologue: Attacked

**Happy February! Have an update~ Action will be beginning soon in this story.**

**Replies:**

**Guest (who I'm going to assume is IAILA xD): **has the story started yet you tell me :3 Yay new reader! And YAS ASIAN FF-ERS UNITE OR SOMETHING. I have a feeling that there are plenty of other people with Asian heritage that just choose not to share it ^^" And UPDATE IS AGO.

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><p>They got violent too quickly. She wasn't able to defend herself.<p>

The first time, the mortals caught on before the assault in the narrow alley covered in graffiti became too deadly. Through the obscuring Mist, they saw a scantily dressed woman kicking a child mercilessly, spittle flying out of her sneering mouth as her strikes became more and more violent. She seemed to lift up her foot to slam down platform heels onto the girl's unprotected side. What Drew saw was a girl with fiery eyes and mismatched legs, legs of a donkey and a robot, both of which really hurt when smacked in the same bruising spot again and again.

"Charmspeak me now, _hero_," the empousai snarled in glee, her eyes narrowing in pleasure as she watched the young girl shrink into herself with muffled sobs. "Try and trick me away now!"

"Please don't hurt me!" Drew wailed loudly, drawing the attention of a passing local.

The local had quickly dialed 911, speaking too loudly into his cell phone as he shouted at the operator on the other end, begging for help for a little girl being attacked by a strange woman. The empousai overheard and growled in frustration before running away on her odd legs, the local's enraged shouts for her to "COME BACK HERE AND TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR WHAT YOU DID, YOU MONSTER!" following her. The paramedics drove up, stabilized Drew, and bundled her away, not bothering to call the police to track the assailant down. The Mist was too thick for them to realize that they had to.

She was only eight years old.

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><p>Mark ran through the hospital hallways, ignoring all surprised calls from nurses and doctors, telling him halfheartedly that he wasn't allowed there, that he couldn't sprint that haphazardly through the sterile environment, knowing that he would ignore every warning. He didn't care at all about that. What he cared about was getting to his little girl on time.<p>

It had been two years since the first beating. Since then, Drew had become rather acquainted with the inner workings of the local hospital. She had been stabbed, poisoned, beaten, and nearly killed so many times that the hospital knew her as their Miracle Child, always responding positively to new treatments and always somehow coming back to life. Mark had always been there with her, though he was beginning to slow down. He was still coughing from his latest bout of flu when he jogged down the pristine, almost blue-white corridors of the hospital. He himself was puzzled with the suddenness of his immune system's failure, but it wasn't his primary concern.

His little girl had been found in the local park, her odd golden-red blood staining the flattened slush of a snow around her pink.

Room 5. The single digit stood out with its bold blackness on the white background of the door. Mark opened the door with no hesitation, his arms aching from forcing the stubborn doorknob open.

Drew lay on the bed in front of him, hooked up to monitors and IVs and just too many machines all around her. Her mystifying eyes, those peculiar pinkish-red-tinted brown eyes with their golden specks, were closed. Her already pale skin seemed as white as a corpse as she lay there. Her breathing was faint. If anything, the only thing that Mark could see as a clear indicator that her heart was still beating was the constant beep that resonated from a monitor that documented a bright green, almost mountainous line that jerked in a jagged pattern on screen, synchronized to her vital organs. He watched the line pulsate up and down, carving a distinct mark on the inky blackness that covered the rest of the screen.

"Mr. Tanaka, you can't be in here without a doctor," a nurse said after opening the door and finding Mark sitting on a chair, still mesmerized by the green line.

"I know, ma'am," he said quietly, his voice hoarse from disuse and his illness. "I know I'm spreading unwanted germs everywhere as well. And I'm leaving." His words seemed resigned, seemed to have a deeper meaning to them.

_(she had no idea why or what it was)_

He slowly got up, took one last look at Drew's still form, and walked out of the room.

* * *

><p>The next week, Drew was back in school, once again calmed and quietly talked out of never leaving the house again. She set her red backpack down on the floor (more like threw it onto the floor) and dug through her desk, which was a messy sort of neat that meant that only she knew where everything was.<p>

"Drew?"

The Japanese girl froze in the act of digging out her favorite bright purple gel pen.

The girl in front of her stared at her in confusion, as if wondering why Drew had suddenly gone so still (she most definitely was wondering that). Drew blinked owlishly a couple of times before registering who it was standing in front of her.

Adrienne Maro. The class's loner girl, who sat in the corner at Free Write Fridays and happily jotted down some unintelligible story that no one else bothered to ask her about. Drew took in her skin tone, tanned even though it was the dead of winter. Her eyes, as dark and unsullied as the sky of a moonless night. Her hair, long, dark brown curls that went to the small of her back when not tied up in a ponytail; Drew remembered numbly that they sometimes were bleached golden-brown from exposure to the sun in the spring and summer times. A small, attempt-at-being-friendly smile was drawn onto her face. She looked nervous more than anything.

"Hi," Drew ventured back cautiously.

Adrienne sighed _(in relief?_) before walking over to sit at the desk next to Drew's. "How are you?"

"Good." It was weird having a conversation with Adrienne Maro.

"That's good." An awkward silence descended on them.

"We have P.E. later today," Adrienne ventured.

"That's cool," Drew responded, uncertain of what else to say.

"Do you remember what we're doing?"

"We have stations today, right?"

Adrienne's expression cleared, having coaxed out a sentence for an answer. "Yeah, right!" she said. "Want to be my partner for some of the things?"

"What needs a partner?" Drew asked, staring down at her fuchsia pen.

"The balance beam, the climbing ropes, um, the, er, the tumbling..."

Drew blinked. "The tumbling doesn't need a partner."

"Oh, the handstand and headstand station!" Adrienne said triumphantly. "That needs a partner, right?"

Drew shrugged.

"Come on, it'll be fun!"

"Alright," Drew said softly, tiredly. Anything to get this girl to stop talking to her. Adrienne beamed at her for agreeing so easily.

"Yay! See you then, Drew!" Adrienne said, getting out of Michael O'Donnell's seat when the curly-haired brunet complained. She waltzed back to her own seat and sat down.

Adrienne wouldn't stop bothering Drew afterwards. She walked over to Drew and sat down on Drew's desk when it was snack time (getting rebuked by Ms. Lawrens until she got off), sat down next to Drew at reading time, and even sat with the Asian girl at lunch time. Drew didn't know what to say or do except for carefully eating her sandwich and steadfastly ignoring Adrienne.

Finally, it was time for gym. Ms. Lawrens directed the third-grade class to stand in a straight line against the hallway. When they were arranged to her satisfaction, she marched them down the hall and to the wooden gym.

Knotted ropes hung from the ceilings. There were laminated pieces of paper covered in instructions and taped to the soft mats that were stuck to the walls. Equipment covered the floor, from a wooden beam six feet off of the ground to a set of mats shaped to resemble the incline of a hill. Ladders that originally leaned against the wall had been rearranged so that they rested a yard above the ground and were parallel to the hardwood floor.

Drew knew in the back of her mind that since it was snowing outside, there was no way that the P.E. teachers could even think about taking them out to the playground, but she still felt slightly disappointed that they had to stay in the gym. She waved the disappointment away with a shake of her head; the 'obstacle courses' were more interesting than the parachute or the occasional games of intense dodgeball that the teachers sometimes decided to implement.

Adrienne nodded towards the wooden beam, indicating that she wanted to try it first. The gesture soon became an intense planning session to use the precious sixty minutes of gym time to try out as much of the equipment as possible. The enthusiastic girls were soon cut off as the two gym teachers, a male and a female teacher, gathered the excitable students into a small crowd and spent five minutes briefly going over each station. The children all shuffled in impatience at the explanation, and when they were released, Drew found herself being literally dragged over to the wooden beams by Adrienne.

"Drew, look what I can do!" she said with a grin, walking onto the beam without wobbling with no sign of fear on her face. She twirled on the tips of her toes on the beam, hands stretched away from her body, before almost running across the beam and jumping off the other end. Drew's eyes widened before narrowing in determination. There was no way that only Adrienne could do that, right?

Drew immediately stepped onto the beam. She walked across it part of the way, feeling herself shaking as she did so. She swallowed back her fear before releasing a breath and leaping across the beam with false courage plastered on her face. For a single, heart-stopping second, she couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet as she jumped off of the beam. When her legs finally reconnected with the earth, she felt herself wobble slightly.

Drew just walked back up the beam. Her legs felt more confident; they knew the slimness of the wood beneath them, the strength and rigidity of the oak it was made of. She allowed herself a little leeway to try the twirl that Adrienne had shown off, smiling widely as she pulled it off before running off and landing the same way her new friend had.

Friend. A simple, monosyllabic word that could bring so much joy just thinking about it.

Hmm.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, she ran over to Adrienne. It was the other girl's turn to be jerked about as Drew pulled her over to the ladder. She asked the gym teacher to move the wood a bit higher off of the ground, watching the ladder slowly begin to tower over her. She leapt up and grabbed one of the smooth wooden rungs before swinging her legs up and around another stick. She let go with her hands before arching her back and grabbing the next wooden rung. Smiling, she kicked her feet off of the other rung and swung them onto the next, continuing across the ladder in the style. Adrienne just smiled toothily before attempting it herself.

The other station that Adrienne really wanted to try was the handstand station. Adrienne was apparently really good at standing on her hands, since she could easily walk on them, grin at Drew, and wave jollily without losing her balance. Drew had less success; her first attempt saw her about to sprawl on the ground in an undignified heap. When she felt her center of gravity shift in the wrong direction, she clenched her eyes closed and waited for the inevitable pain.

The pain that never came.

Her eyes flew open in time to see what appeared to be a solid shadow disappear into her friend's sleeves.

"What's that?" she asked innocently. She hadn't the faintest hint idea anyhow.

"Don't know what you're goin' on about," Adrienne said breezily, acting as though she had held up Drew's legs with her hands. Drew just decided to ignore it. It didn't matter what kind of superpowers her friend had. Adrienne was just her closest friend.

_(it's easy to have a closest friend when you've only got one friend)_

_(ah, to be a child and so innocent again)_

They raced to climb to the top of a thick knotted rope first, they did cartwheels and egg rolls off of the thick mats on the ground. They shouted and whooped, their cries swallowed up in the loud din that coated the gym. They went back to the wooden beam, this time practically dancing across it with happiness.

When the teachers called the now slightly sweaty kids together again, Adrienne and Drew wore identical looks of joy.

"That was fun!" Drew chirped at lunch a half an hour later, biting into a sandwich her father had packed for her.

"Yep," Adrienne said, playing with the chicken-something that had been provided by the cafeteria. "We should do that again next time!"

Drew nodded and agreed with a smile. They agreed to meet up again for the next gym activity, and for all of the activities in class until then as well.

The next day, Adrienne Maro was withdrawn from Treeview Elementary. Her father moved out of state, and the family didn't leave anything for anyone to contact them with.

* * *

><p>Drew was rather depressed for weeks after Adrienne disappeared. She had only been friends with the other girl for a few hours, but she still felt some sort of innate connection, something she had never sensed before that told her she could trust Adrienne. And now the girl was gone.<p>

Mark barely noticed Drew's despondency. Even if the girl was tight-lipped about it, he should have been more observant, he knew. But his own problems were beginning to overwhelm him. He was feeling ill more often than not, and his entire body seemed to ache at times. It was hard to get over the slightest of colds. Sometimes, he would walk upstairs and have to catch his breath. He woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. Migraines came and went. All while Drew trudged through hallways in her school with a heavy heart and heavier feet.

And the attacks just wouldn't stop.

Finally, when Mark was barely able to scrape himself into Drew's hospital room, the resident nurse took it upon herself to bring in the doctor for the man, not the girl. He was ushered into a new room, placed on a cot, and told to relax as they tried to figure out why he had just collapsed on the ground, shaking.

The results that they reluctantly told him made his blood run cold. No, it couldn't be true. The news that they gave him, it was all just a huge, stupid lie, just a _lie_.

Because there was no way that he had cancer.

Right?

* * *

><p>The attacks were becoming more and more serious. Drew's right arm was badly bruised by a Cyclops, and then her left by a Hyperborean. Her wrist was sprained when a dracanae wrenched her arm sideways while walking on the sidewalk. Her leg dislocated when a hellhound butted her from the back and sent her sprawling across the concrete. She collected concussions as readily as she made snow angels during winter.<p>

One day, when Mark was trembling with the prospect of telling Drew the news he had been told only a week prior, Aphrodite came back. She whispered in Mark's ear as he dreamed.

_"She has to go to camp. I will give her my blessing and claim her as mine, but she must go there to keep you both safe."_

Drew soon found herself in the backseat of a peculiar white van advertising some strawberry farms. A man with sunglasses and gloves on was silently driving the car. Her backpack was still on her back, for whatever reason. She watched fields blanketed in snow zoom past the windows she stared out of. She didn't say anything to the taciturn person in the driver's seat. Her bag of things, modest in size, was thrown haphazardly next to her. Her father had to stay behind for whatever reason, but she wasn't too scared. She was used to being brought places alone, for all of the attacks had happened when her father had left her for maybe five seconds as he ran back somewhere to grab something he forgot.

There was another person in the car. A boy, maybe two years older than her. He looked Asian as well, with dark brown eyes that were almost black and messy black hair. He nervously glanced at the driver, then at Drew. The driver. Drew. The driver. She was getting kind of annoyed by his antics. When he looked at her one too many times, she snapped, "My face isn't that interesting, you know."

The boy flushed red, his fair skin tainted by the blood rushing to his cheeks. "Sorry," he mumbled at her, fixing his gaze straight ahead. Drew watched the hairs on the back of his head slowly rise in embarrassment.

She huffed, folded her arms in front of her chest, and slumped against the van.

"Why are you here, anyways?" she asked, not too politely.

"They thought you might not understand English," he muttered darkly.

"What?" she said, bewildered.

"There aren't too many of us Asians in the camp," he said carefully. "Let alone Japs."

"That's an offensive word," Drew said offhandedly, her mind racing. She hadn't really thought of herself as 'Asian' except for the traditional foods her father usually prepared. In every other aspect, she was practically white.

"I know. Get used to it," the boy said. They descended into silence again.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of awkwardness but was really just twenty more minutes, the driver flicked a lever next to his wheel and directed the car to the right. He parked before unlocking the door and grunting slightly. The boy in the passenger seat clearly took it as a signal, because he unlatched the door and kicked it open, jerking the door all the way open. After he slammed it back with a casual air and a loud _BAM!_, he opened the door opposite to Drew more sedately, moving as if he was going to take her bag out of the car.

"What are you doing?" she said, pretty much snapping at him as he grabbed the bag.

He blinked. "Getting your stuff for you?" he said, making the statement sound more like a question.

"Why?"

"Because you're a newbie, I guess," he said, shrugging. Drew glared at him.

"Get away from my stuff," she growled.

"Sorry?"

"**Get away from my stuff!" **she snarled more loudly. The boy's eyes glazed over slightly. He almost mechanically dropped the bag and stepped backwards, giving Drew room to slide over and yank her bag out of the backseat. The sound of her closing the door (much more quietly than he had, thank you very much) seemed to jerk the boy out of his original daze.

"What did you do to me?" he asked with a threatening undertone.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said tersely, giving the boy a glare as she walked past.

"I'm sure you don't," he said with a snort. "Why did you do that? Are you so against someone being nice and carrying your things for you?"

"No one's nice to me," Drew said quietly. She readjusted the strap on her right shoulder.

"Why not? You seem like an okay person," the boy said.

"They like to push me down and kick me," Drew said emotionlessly. Her blasé attitude towards abuse made the boy shiver slightly. What kind of life did this girl really lead? She was only a kid.

"Well, no one's going to do that here," he said. "Right, Argus?"

The driver glared at him with shockingly blue eyes. He did not appreciate being dragged into the conversation, it seemed.

"Worth a shot," the boy said with a shrug.

Drew rolled her eyes dramatically at the boy's antics.

"Don't do that. You remind me of the girl who just came here about two weeks ago," the boy said.

All Drew could reply to that was a "hmph."

They had been hiking up a hill covered in a thick layer of snow, and Drew felt herself begin to slow down and her legs begin to tremble. Her feet sank into the white blanket. She glared at the precipitation as if it had betrayed her somehow.

"Can I help you now?" the boy asked. He had been studying her, watching her falter.

Drew didn't want to say it, but...

"Yes, please," she mumbled. She hated asking for help for anything.

Rather than making fun of her lack of ability to carry her own things, the boy merely picked up the bag that Drew hastily dropped on the snow and continued walking up the hill. Argus just studied them with his eyes and watched them walk up the snowy knoll. They were walking towards what appeared to be a pine tree.

They walked past the tree.

Instantly, the snow vanished. Drew found herself gaping at a tiny village covered in grassy fields and dusty brown soil. She was rendered speechless by the things that filled the area. There were twelve cabins, all of different makes and materials and colors, there was a climbing wall with lava spurting out of obviously artificial cracks, a large building that people seemed to walk out of with shiny new weapons, an amphitheatre, a large marble building, a place to eat outdoors, basketball courts, stables, and so many other things she couldn't comprehend at once. And so many _people_, people older than all of the other children at her elementary school, more kids than the number enrolled in the local middle school.

The boy noticed her speechlessness and gave her a grin, the first smile that he had cracked during the entire day. It made his face light up, his eyes glimmer with mirth.

"Welcome to Camp Half-Blood."

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><p><strong>Bold words are charmspeak. Except for, y'know, the bold words here.<strong>

**Fun fact: Drew's childhood life was based on mine. I actually grew up in Western New York, in a predominantly white neighborhood. Had a slight identity crisis as a kid because of it. But it was a good life; I don't remember any overt racism, if that's anyone's concern. And the chameleon thing with her skin in the summer and winter was me, though I was more dramatically changing color as I swam and tanned like crazy. Also snow is not fun to walk in, though it's great fun to mess around in.**

**Until next chapter, ~Shriayle**


	4. Prologue: Armed and Ready

**It's been more than a week. Geez. Sorry about that.**

**Hello lovelies :) As we have entered Camp Half-Blood, I find myself in need of some OCs. Quite a few background OCs, some of which may become important later on. If you've got a character you'd like to see in this fiction, please let me know that you have a possible character and I'll send you a form to fill out so I know how to describe your character in the story.**

**In the same line of thought, Adrienne Maro doesn't belong to me; rather, she belongs to I am in Loki's Army.**

**Remember to check out the ask. fm if you have any requests or questions for me :D**

**Replies:**

**I am in Loki's Army: **I BELIEVE I TOLD YOU THAT ADRIENNE WAS GOING TO BE IMPORTANT :D And I'm not sure which username to look out for, but any new readers are welcome under any name so. |=| **Maiannaise: **All the suffering.

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><p>"Camp Half-Blood?"<p>

The boy nodded. He seemed nervous, observing her reaction.

She had no idea what she looked like, herself. She felt confused, elated, exultant, and upset all at once. It was a puzzling array of emotions that slowly began to overcome her mind, and soon the girl found herself on her knees, staring numbly across the camp.

"Are you okay?" the boy asked rather frantically. He rushed to her side the second that he saw her begin to sink, the bag forgotten on the grass.

Argus gave them an unimpressed look that neither of them caught.

"I'm fine, leave me alone," Drew snapped out again. She never liked having to deal with people's sympathy.

"Sorry," the boy said hurriedly, backing away with the same enthusiasm that he had approached her with. "But it's really something, huh?"

Drew shivered slightly. Something, yes. Something good?

She wasn't quite so sure.

It felt wrong to be standing there, next to that pine tree that felt like more than a simple pine tree, looking at a camp magically regulated somehow to never feel anything but a balmy breeze and summer sun. A camp where orange-clad people ran about, shouting, as bits of stuff from their hands and their bodies glittered randomly as they moved.

The boy looked much happier to be there than she felt.

"Well, we'll have to take you to the Big House, and there you'll get the usual orientation and get you into a cabin," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. Drew detected his bitterness at the end of his statement. She glanced over to see if her suspicions were correct.

The boy was glaring down at the camp, snarling under his breath slightly. Gone was the comforting smile that had graced his face just moments before. She followed his gaze down to...

The cabins? What had they done that was so bad to him? She noticed that some were beautiful, while others were plain ugly. Why would anyone think that splashing wood with red paint was attractive?

A hand appeared in front of her face. Drew jumped slightly in surprise before staring at the hand uncomprehendingly.

The boy blinked. His hand was still outstretched, offered to her. His right hand, with a single scar on his thumb.

Drew hesitantly held out her own hand and took his, shaking it firmly.

"Ethan Nakamura," the boy said.

"I'm Drew," she responded quietly.

"What, no surname? Don't trust me?" he teased, the easy grin returning to his face. _He looks better when he smiles_, Drew noted casually.

"Tanaka," she added at his not-so-veiled insistence.

"Drew Tanaka?" he sounded out, carefully enunciating every consonant.

"That's my name; don't wear it out," Drew responded, folding her arms over her chest and giving Ethan a look full of both mirth and murderous intent. How a ten year-old could pull it off Ethan had no idea.

"It's a nice name. It suits you," Ethan said casually. "Now, let's stop burning Apollo's light and get to the Big House."

As Drew followed Ethan down the grassy hill and into the marble building, she couldn't stop thinking about how his single comment, calling her name 'nice', was the first time that she had ever really been complimented in her entire life.

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><p>Drew squinted in the suddenly harsh light that attacked her eyes as she left the darkened room where she saw some oddly stereotypical orientation video. At least, stereotypical until it got to the sword-fighting arena, lava wall, and forge. Those were pretty different. But capture the flag and campfire songs? How mortal can you get?<p>

She hadn't been too shocked about the entire 'Greek myths are real, your mother was a goddess', blah blah blah stuff. She had always felt different from the other children, though she was more focused in class and had never been diagnosed with ADHD, thank you very much. Drew had always had a handle on what her mind wanted to think, and the second it began to digress she had attempted to rein it back into place. It was a surprisingly sophisticated system for someone her age.

In fact, the camp's activities director, as he was called according to the camp's legal documents, was more surprised than she was at her lackadaisical response to him. Yes, it was freaky that he was half horse and somehow able to keep that half firmly stored away inside a fake wheelchair. No, it didn't really freak her out.

She had been beaten up by snake women and one-eyed men. It took a little more than a centaur with cheerful eyes and a stern expression to freak Drew out.

The centaur, Chiron, shook his head as he saw the intrepid girl emerge from the room. "Well, you're not giggling or fainting or anything. Are you up for a tour around camp?" She responded with a silent nod.

Ethan, the boy that had been in the car when Drew was picked up, was tasked with showing Drew around camp. He seemed rather surprised by that; he had only been there for about a month before Drew showed up. He walked her around, showing her the various places she had noticed later. The amphitheater for important announcements and camp sing-alongs. The stables where they kept pegasi (winged horses were real? Drew's inner eight year-old self was screaming with giddiness). The forge, where she saw burly kids pounding away on swords, shields, and the occasional singing figurine ("They usually never work, but the Heph kids just keep at it," Ethan confided). And finally, the cabins.

They stood in the middle of the cabins, by a fire pit that was being watched over by what appeared to be an eight year-old girl with mousy brown hair. The girl held a burning stick and was gently nudging the crackling wood, a content smile on her face. She glanced up and caught Drew's gaze with her own. She had eyes that seemed red with fire, comforting fire that reminded Drew of the days when she sat around in front of the fireplace with a warm mug of hot chocolate as snow blocked the doors and icicles dripped down from the windows.

"Is it safe for her to be doing that?" Drew asked Ethan.

He frowned. "Who?"

"Her," Drew said, turning back to where the girl was still poking the fire.

Or, where she _was_ poking the fire. Drew stared dumbly as her hand pointed towards an empty space where the girl had been sitting.

Ethan just scrutinized her, then stared intently at the spot. After a while, he shrugged. "Don't see anyone over there, Drew. Maybe you're going crazy or something."

"I'm not going crazy!" Drew said, scowling, but she turned away from the mysterious girl that might not have even existed.

Ethan went back to the cabins. "Well, here we are, home sweet home surrounded by lots of family," he said, gesturing grandly about.

"There aren't many people here," she pointed out. They had seen all of maybe twenty campers for now: a tall boy with sandy blond hair and blue eyes, a muscular brunette girl with beady dark eyes, a girl years younger than Drew herself with blond curly hair and calculating grey eyes, a solidly built African American boy with warm brown eyes in particular stood out to her. She didn't know their names, but their personalities sang out to her, along with their emotions. They radiated determination, ferocity, cunning, happiness.

But there weren't enough to fill up the cabins at all.

Ethan scowled. "It's winter. Everyone else is at home. They've got weaker demigod scents," he said. His expression fell slightly. "I wish I could go home."

Drew blinked. Ethan didn't seem to exude as strong of a presence as the others. "What's stopping you?"

"Family issues," Ethan muttered. His face gave away that he didn't want to talk about it. At all.

Drew wisely decided to stay quiet about the issue.

"Anyhow, Cabin One. Zeus. Cabin Three. Poseidon. No kids in there because of some big name prophecy that Chiron or Annabeth could explain to you better."

"Annabeth?"

"Little girl, younger than us by maybe four or five years, or maybe younger than you for about three years. Blonde hair, silver eyes, looks like she's going to kill you or maybe dissect you. Kinda creepy if you ask me."

Drew recalled the image of the girl with princess blonde curls and calculating grey eyes. The bronze knife strapped to her waist at all times and the navy blue Yankees cap shoved into her belt as well.

"I think I know who you're talking about. What are the other cabins?"

Ethan continued his tour. "Cabin Two, Hera. Goddess of fidelity, you know? Doesn't have demigod children, or children with anyone but Zeus on principle."

He pointed out the cabins as he went along. Six, a Spartan grey cabin covered in owls, for Athena children. Four, light brown and covered in flowers and crops, for Demeter. Ten, a cabin made of metal and designed like a factory, for the sons and daughters of Hephaestus.

"And this is Cabin Eleven."

It was a nondescript building, with walls that were slowly crumbling and peeling brown paint. There wasn't anything too out of the ordinary about it, except for one shining caduceus that was proudly portrayed above the door.

"Who's the godly parent here?" Drew asked, staring in. Cots, bunk beds, and that was about it. There wasn't much else filling the cabin.

"There's no one parent here," Ethan practically growled. When Drew glanced over, she saw hatred burning deep in Ethan's gaze.

Drew looked at him with half concern and half curiosity.

"Technically, this is Hermes's cabin. But because Hermes is also the patron of travelers and all that jazz, unclaimed and non-Olympian demigods are also put in here," the boy explained through gritted teeth.

"You seem a bit, um, upset about this."

Ethan shifted uncomfortably. "I live in here."

Drew glanced at him sympathetically. She knew automatically what he was implying with his words. She felt the same way sometimes. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I'll probably have to stay here for a bit as well."

Ethan just shrugged. "Let's just go," he muttered.

Drew felt herself feel almost guilty for bringing up what was obviously an extremely sore subject to the one person she knew at camp. She wanted to say something, do something, anything that could ease the now building tension between the two.

"What did you do with all of my stuff?" she asked, trying to sound lighthearted.

Ethan smirked at her slightly. "Already dumped it by my section of the cabin. Hopefully no one steals out of it by the end of the tour."

"Hopefully?"

"Always gotta cling onto that tiny bit of luck, especially in a cabin of the children of the god of thieves."

"If anything's stolen, you're replacing it," she said with a fake grumble and pout.

"Hey!" he said indignantly. "It's not my fault that the Hermes kids are klepto!"

She just childishly stuck her tongue out at him. "Now what's next? The arts and crafts building?"

* * *

><p>Ethan grimaced as he picked at his face yet again. He hated painting.<p>

Drew on the other hand...

He glanced at the rather excited girl next to him. When he had been told to pick her up, he didn't know what to expect. When she had gotten into the car and proceeded to silently stare out the window at the incredibly interesting (read: boring as Tartarus) whiteness that is snow for two hours, he had thought she was shy, maybe traumatized by something. When he took her on the tour, he thought she was morose and moped a lot.

Now, she was smiling (a small smile, but a smile nonetheless) fondly at a piece of wood in her hands. The camp hadn't been able to afford canvas for the longest time, but whenever a dryad needed to get a trimming, the Demeter kids always took the spare wood and carefully pared it down to useable boards that were about a half-an-inch thick and sanded down to a smooth surface.

Drew had taken one of the boards and proceeded to paint a scene on it, taking the painting hastily when Ethan tried to glance over her shoulder at it. He had seen a couple splashes of color, some kind of bird from the looks of it, before she pushed him away and practically hugged the painting to herself, almost covering herself in paint and ruining the art. She had spent a good hour in there, carefully applying more and more color with more and more boldness with each passing minute. Ethan had just amused himself with a random bit of clay he found laying about, carefully molding it into something that was supposed to be a pegasus but looked more like a horse-like blob with pterodactyl wings or something insane like that. He had grimaced at the failed sculpture and smashed it down into a ball again.

As he was thinking of what to do next with the ill-fated ball of clay, Drew had leaned over and dabbed his face with a streak of red paint. He had frozen at the cold, viscous liquid that slowly began to drip down his face.

Drew had just given him an angelic smile and turned back to her painting, slathering the pigment on the wood again rather than flesh.

And now the paint had dried on his cheek. Zeus damn it.

A rumble of thunder came from the blue skies. Drew furrowed her brow slightly.

"Dry thunder?" she guessed.

No, Drew, just insane sky gods thinking that they're amazing for sacrificing their children to save the rest of us.

* * *

><p>The two children-that-aren't-really-children soon finished the last bits of their tour. Ethan glanced over towards a shed by Cabin Six for the fourth time since he started leading Drew around.<p>

"What's in there, Ethan?" Drew asked, finally fed up with his uncertain glances.

He jumped slightly, then glanced at her with a guilty expression. "I was hoping you didn't notice..." he muttered. He ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

"Well, let's go in, then," she coaxed, tugging his arm and walking towards it.

Ethan shrugged before following her. "Let me go ask the Athena cabin for the keys."

Five minutes later, they were coaxing open a door with rusty hinges and cautiously stepping inside. Drew's eyes immediately flew open as she gaped at the shed's contents.

Weapons. Nothing but weapons.

There were mostly swords and shields, bows and arrows lining the shelves, but there were a couple of more eccentric tools of mass destruction as well. Drew saw a spear that was apparently laced with electricity, a bomb filled with mysterious green flames that was thankfully disarmed, and even a well-kept nunchaku that was covered in deadly looking bronze spikes. She didn't really know what to make of it.

Ethan looked around, slightly uncomfortable. "If there's something here that you feel speaks to you, then you're allowed to take it. Many of these were used by other heroes that have since either passed or fallen in battle."

His words made her blood run cold. Would one of the weapons she took here that day be returned in the future, after her inevitable death? Would that day be in decades or in weeks?

She shook off her fears and bravely ventured into the shed. She recoiled from the blades and points that leered at her everywhere, not sure of what in particular she was looking for. She didn't feel some strange tug in her, or hear some voice telling her to pick up one of the daggers that glinted with a dangerous light. Drew just glanced about the musty shed, wondering what she would do if she didn't find something she really liked. She sighed slightly and turned around to leave the shed.

Something caught her eye as she turned. She blinked before glancing back towards the weapon.

An innocuous looking fan greeted her eyes. It was one of the ones her father kept at home, a fragile looking thing with easily torn paper that had beautiful artwork drawn on it as well. Next to it lay what looked like a simple tube of mascara.

Drew blinked before picking up the two objects. She cautiously opened the fan with her left hand, as she had been taught to do. Instantly, tiny bronze knives unsheathed themselves on each end of a stick, spaced out evenly across the semicircle of paper she now held. Drew gaped openly at the wicked sharp pieces of metal that had been so carefully designed to hide themselves in the wood slats. She closed the fan and gripped it in her hand as she opened the mascara with even more caution.

When she took the wand out of the container, she found herself holding a strange contraption. It had a silver body and golden inlay, and when she flicked her wrist, a bronze dagger flipped out of the top and propped itself on top of a metallic tube, seeming to almost melt into the top before her eyes, becoming one piece of metal. She was holding an ebony handle at the base of the tube.

It was a gun that had been designed with a blade that stuck two inches out from the end of the barrel.

Drew hadn't an idea of what to do to put the thing away. She tried flicking it again, which didn't do anything except send a pointed piece of metal hurtling towards her eye before she leaned away in fright. She poked at the dragons that had been carved into the barrel, even tried manually putting the knife away as best as she could without cutting herself. Finally, she exasperatedly tried to put the gun back into the leather container that the mascara had turned into.

It slid in before shrinking back into the plastic container she had picked up before.

Drew was in a bit of shock from this, and she just stood there, blinking at the faux makeup in her hand.

"Drew? Can we leave now? All of these things are starting to really freak me out."

Drew snapped herself out of the daydream and walked back towards Ethan in a bit of a daze.

"You okay?" he asked, noticing her somewhat blank expression.

"F-fine. Nothing's wrong. Nothing," she responded, sounding distracted.

"Find anything you like?"

She showed him the fan and mascara, refusing to answer his follow-up questions and just walking back to the Big House.

* * *

><p><strong>Drew's new weapons are a fan that has been accented with sharp pieces of metal (in this case, Celestial Bronze) that double as miniature knives and a gun-knife that is disguised as a bottle of mascara. The mascara thing is kind of like Percy's pen. Only, in this case, the bottom part of the mascara turns into a leather handle-thing rather than stay as the pen cap, as Anaklusmos implies it does.<strong>

**One last question of the update: Who should be in the characters for this fiction? I know for certain that Drew and Aphrodite are going to be there, but there is a love interest that I could replace Percabeth with in a couple of chapters. Only Annabeth is really important, to be honest, but Percy's got a major role as well. Should I change to the love interest as soon as it's released? (Which will be soon, don't worry about it.)**

**As always, if there's something that confuses you, let me know in a review or PM.**

**~Shriayle**


	5. Prologue: Folding

**I just realized how misleading my question was. There will most likely be Percabeth, but they are not main characters in this fiction, so I was wondering if I should leave them in the 'characters' section up there, by the review count and name of the story xD Sorry for the confusion.**

**AGH IT'S BEEN ALMOST A MONTH SINCE LAST UPDATE WHAT. I have so many projects going on that this seems to have been shoved back, but that doesn't meant that I'm not going to finish it! I will see this story through the end, and probably through a couple epilogues the way my other story has been formatted.**

**Replies:**

**I am in Loki's Army: **Hm, still thinking about it. I've got a few more chapters to debate it with myself, anyhow, but I'm probably going to keep most of everything canon for the most part. And make her review :P I'm curious what everyone thinks about this little collection of letters. And I should have sent you an up-to-date OC form to fill out with your person :) |=| **Maiannaise: **Oh, Percy/Drew will never be a thing. I will assure you of that. But there will be a Percy/Drew relationship. If that makes sense. |=| **CalypsoValdezislife: **Yes, there will be more. Much. Much. More. |=| **I am the Story Teller: **I should have by now sent you a PM with requirements for each OC before I can include them :D If you're lucky, at least one of them will show up here! |=| **MagicMilkbone: **Well, they're like twelve and ten as of right now, so shipping is a bit early xD Thank you! I write my stories and hope that people like them, so it's nice to see that it pays off.

* * *

><p>Drew didn't share her experience in the weapons shed with anyone except for Chiron. The camp director had just blinked in response to her recollection of fantastical weapons springing out of innocuous make-up applicators.<p>

"I've never heard of such a weapon appearing in our stores," he said slowly, thoughtfully. He looked thoughtful for a moment, his finger stroking the end of his chin as his eyes narrowed in concentration. Finally, he opened them fully again, an expression of realization on his face.

"It must be one of the old bows, redesigned to fit the current day and age," he murmured. "Not many weapons do so, but if they haven't been used, sometimes a godly force rearranges them into a more suitable form in order to make others use the weapon again. It's one of the few things that the divine laws don't restrict. And magical transformations were always a big part of the camp, anyhow."

The fan had absolutely no explanation. Chiron had no idea where it could have come from or where it could have been found. He didn't even know if it could have been another refurnished old weapon. Drew found that she could actually shoot the tiny bronze knives out of the fan itself with a careful flick of her wrist, like darts that consistently reappeared in their proper slots and were always sharp enough to cut with the slightest of touches. She didn't question the sorcery that allowed her weapon to summon its sharper bits back into their sheath not two minutes after they were released. Once, the fan even transformed into a light and thin katana, with a brown leather grip and a red ribbon tied around the end, but she really didn't like fighting with the sword. Getting close to people in general was nerve-wracking to Drew. She would much rather hit them with her new weapons from afar.

Chiron had also told her that it was tradition to name weapons when using them, names that could last for ages or be forgotten with the heroes that died with stories unsung. She knew he expected Greek names that spoke of fierce flames, deadly shots, sharp visions, but she didn't feel the weapons were Greek.

They were just as Greek as she was. Which was not at all.

She was stuck on the names, though.

She had moved into Hermes cabin, as she had said she would. Ethan was somewhat more pleasant to be around, though maybe she just got used to his cynicism and sarcastic remarks. There were only a few others around; the Luke guy, a couple of other girls, and one other guy with brown hair and glaring green eyes. They all made Drew a bit nervous, though only one of the girls and Luke seemed to be the true children of Hermes. They knew what it felt like to be looked over by the celestial beings that were the gods.

Her cautious friendship with Ethan remained just that: a friendship, one that wavered between barely more than acquaintances to closer than the best of friends. Drew thought it queer that he was the only one that would talk to her; that is, until she noticed one of the other girls.

The dark brown curls with streaks of blonde where the sun bleached the strands of hair. The pale skin. The determined face, the familiar quirk of her lips. Her smile didn't appear as readily, and her eyes didn't glitter as mischievously, as though they had witnessed something awful, but there was no mistake. Drew didn't make these kinds of mistakes.

The girl had to be Adrienne.

All at once, Drew was overjoyed at getting her first friend back and enraged that she didn't learn sooner. The second she recognized Adrienne, she boldly stomped up to the other girl (something she wouldn't have dreamed about even just weeks earlier) and said, "Nice to see you again, too."

Adrienne had blinked, balked slightly, and then squealed with joy after staring at her uncomprehendingly for a few seconds. "DREW!" she screamed, drawing out the single syllable of Drew's name as long as her lungs allowed her to. She practically jumped on top of Drew and squeezed her.

Drew realized only later how much Adrienne's arms were shaking, how her entire figure was shaking.

It was even later that she understood that Adrienne had been frightened, untrusting, and was just so relieved that a familiar face had materialized at last.

But for now, all Drew could do was blink rapidly before hesitantly wrapping her arms around Adrienne in response. Her friend-for-a-day was back.

Adrienne released her and held her away at arm's-length, staring at her face intently as though she expected Drew to suddenly vanish in a show of golden light. Drew wondered briefly if ever such a thing had happened before. She doubted it.

"D-Drew?" Adrienne said faintly. "Why are you here?"

"Apparently my mom wasn't just some deadbeat," she responded casually, shrugging lightly.

"Yours too? Why did this never come up?"

"We knew each other for all of one day, Adrienne."

"Minor details."

Drew sighed, both exasperatedly and contently. She remembered this odd personality that Adrienne had now, the quirks and joys that belonged to her alone. She had almost forgotten all of these beautiful idiosyncrasies. Drew vowed to never forget them again.

"What activity do you have now?" Adrienne asked. They were classes, for certain, but since Camp Half-Blood was meant to be a camp, Chiron insisted on calling them 'activities'.

"Marksmanship," Drew said casually. Adrienne looked at her curiously.

"That doesn't exist," she said uncertainly.

Drew smirked slightly. It was an odd, twisted expression that Adrienne hadn't really seen on Drew's face before. The wavy-haired girl blamed the Hermes campers for that. "It does when I've got this," Drew said, taking the mascara container out of her pocket.

"Drew, I'm sorry to inform you that a thing of mascara doesn't do anything against a monster," Adrienne said, her expression deadpan.

"It does when I do this!" Drew said, eyes suddenly shining, as she unscrewed the mascara with clumsily excited fingers and opened it. Adrienne's eyes widened at the sight of the gunknife in her friend's hands.

"Okay, I'm officially scared of you," Adrienne said. "I'm gonna guess that 'marksmanship' is your version of Archery."

"Yep," Drew said, popping the 'p' in the word. She carefully put the gunknife back and shoved the mascara container in her pocket. She paused. "What do you use to fight, anyhow?"

Adrienne said nothing, just glancing back and forth, ensuring that no one would approach them. Somehow, she sensed someone else approaching and hurriedly said, "Another time, Drew," before rushing away quickly.

Drew blinked in confusion at her quickly receding form.

"What's her problem?" she heard a voice behind her. Drew jumped slightly and whisked around to see Ethan staring after Adrienne curiously.

"Not sure," Drew said.

"Always thought she was a weird one," Ethan said nonchalantly.

Drew rounded on him at once. "Back off," she growled, stomping away to Archery.

It was Ethan's turn to blink in confusion now, watching the somewhat-Japanese girl walk away.

"What's up with the girls today?" he asked himself, shaking his head and sighing, wandering off to Cabin Eleven.

* * *

><p>Drew was sitting beneath the tall tree she had hiked past when she arrived at camp. It was a surprisingly tall, proud pine tree, one that seemed to pulse with energy. She had heard the stories; the tale of why the tree was called Thalia's Tree. She heard secondhand that the girl had been a powerful demigod, complete with the powerful stench that wafted from her, drawing monsters near. Her godly parent had been Zeus, and for his deceit his eldest brother, Hades, had released swathes of monsters to hunt his daughter down; revenge for something or another. Thalia had been brought to camp with two other demigods and a satyr. The satyr had collapsed from exhaustion; the two others were struggling to make it past the border. Hellhounds, dracanae, the Furies; all pursued the three. And then Thalia decided she had enough of being hunted and chose to stand her ground, forcing her friends to abandon her. And just as her last breath was to be released, she was turned into a tree.<p>

The tree Drew was observing the outside winter in, as she sat comfortably in jeans and an orange t-shirt, the always balmy weather shining happily down upon her.

One part of that story never really made sense to her. Demigods smelled? Was that how satyrs found powerful demigods and brought them to camp? She had asked a satyr about her own smell, a confident satyr called Peter. He had jumped when she approached him from behind, which worried her. Should he be able to scent her?

And he had identified her scent, but not in the demigod way. Apparently, demigods smelled off; their scent felt almost synthetic, manufactured. It was too cloying, or too strident, or just too conflicting. Drew's scent was more natural; it resembled the crispness of a mountain breeze, along with the faintly recognizable smell that wafted from a growing laurel. "It's odd. I wouldn't identify it as unnatural or demigod at all," Peter said, puzzled, before shrugging and turning away to shout at some other satyr called Grover.

She had puzzled over it. She had even asked, tentatively, what her friends' scents were like. Peter had given her a curious glance, but shrugged again and said, "That boy that you're always with, he smells just wrong. Vengeful, angry, even when he's completely happy. And that other girl, the one with the weird colored hair, she smells like a nighttime storm. Wouldn't be surprised if monsters couldn't detect her, either. Or maybe they could. I mean, your smells don't exactly blend in, y'get me?" And he wandered off again, this time to tend to the strawberries.

Drew wondered how such different people could have all been placed in Cabin Eleven. She wished that there was some way that they could have been placed better. Like with their _proper parents_.

Maybe it was just internal bitterness over her mother never claiming her. After all, she had only grown up with her father; how could she have possibly had a godly father? What kind of demigod had the misfortune of having their birth mother die and have to live with their stepfather in the end? That just seemed too unlucky to exist.

She had gotten to the arena where 'Archery' was hosted by that time. She saw the targets set up against the wall and just took her fan out, staring intently at the bronze tips. She had studied the detachable ends much too often not to get used to them now. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and flicked her wrist. She heard the wind whoosh as the blades pierced the air and thudded into the targets. She cracked an eye open.

The blades had embedded themselves into the target, all at various points on the board. Only five of the seven points had dislodged themselves from the fan, and those five were stuck everywhere from the outermost ring to just inside the bulls-eye. Drew blew a wisp of hair out of her face and chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully, trying to figure out what her next possible attempt could be. She walked over to the target to yank the tips out again.

"You're getting pretty good at that, aren't you?"

Drew had uncapped her mascara bottle and shoved the point of the gunknife under the chin of the person talking to her. Her breathing had gone erratic, her eyes wide. She was in complete fight-or-flight response mode.

Annabeth raised her hands in the air, dropping her knife next to her. "Hey, cool it."

Muttering an apology to the younger girl, Drew shoved her gunknife back into its sheath and began to take the bronze tips she had walked over to claim out of the target. Some were barbed, as she found out; they refused to unstick from the wood of the target. Growling to herself, Drew managed to wrench them out without injuring herself or damaging the bits of metal.

"Impressive," Annabeth commented. "I never liked range weapons, to be honest."

"Hmm," Drew responded noncommittally. Annabeth took this as a sign to keep talking.

"Yeah, I like relying on strategy to get in close and stick it to them, you know?" She pretended to fight some sort of giant beast right there on the spot, her knife getting dangerously close to Drew's arm.

"Watch it," Drew snarled, yanking her arm away.

"Sorry, princess," Annabeth said airily.

"You're the one with the curly-fry hair, Bethy," Drew shot back, "don't call _me_ princess."

Annabeth's gaze turned murderous. "Don't call me anything but my actual name, Drew...-y," she said, trailing off as she tried to alter Drew's name.

Drew just gave a short bark of a laugh. "I respect you, okay, Annabeth? Don't mess that up," Drew said.

She began to walk out of the arena before pausing, taking her gunknife out again, and aiming it at the target. She coolly pulled the trigger and allowed the resulting kick to send her arm reeling backwards. The bullet stuck itself in the dead center of the target. Annabeth looked at Drew with wide grey eyes, eyes that were gleaming with untold ideas and the beginnings of plans swirling in the depths of the blonde girl's mind.

"Don't underestimate me," Drew said, putting her gunknife away and turning on her heel to walk out.

* * *

><p>Chiron bit his lip out of worry. He was holding an epistle that told a horrific story, and now he had to break the news to one of his campers. Brilliant.<p>

Said camper was standing in front of him, fidgeting with her makeup container. A mascara, she called it.

"Chiron, did something happen?" Drew Tanaka asked slowly, pronouncing every syllable as precisely as she could.

"You could say that," he said, absentmindedly straightening his beard. "I don't know how to be gentle about this, Drew, but I got this notice today." He handed the letter over.

He watched Drew's face morph from curiosity to horror to anger to defeat.

"This isn't some kind of a sick joke, is it?"

Chiron understood her shock and completely sympathized with it.

"I'm afraid not," he replied quietly. "You can go back and visit him whenever you need to."

Drew nodded numbly, not sure of what else she could do. She was allowed to leave camp that afternoon and Argus, the man (with one hundred eyes, as she hadn't noticed the first time thanks to his long-sleeved shirt, gloves, sunglasses, hat, etc. all planned to conceal his extra eyes.) Argus drove her for hours past snow covered hills of grass and fields, fields that Drew barely registered as her glassy eyes stared out at them. Argus nervously chewed his lip as he watched her with an extra eye on the back of his neck. She didn't notice him, either.

The first time she actually knew what was really going on, she was breathing in the antiseptic, saccharine hospital air and her boot heels were shuffling down the abnormally clean tiled floor that squeaked when she didn't pick her feet up enough. The ceiling seemed so high above her, shining those blaring bluish white lights down on her, the hallway stretching before her. She never felt so small before.

Drew heard only her footsteps as she approached the room. Room 5. Ironically the same room she was always hospitalized in whenever she had been attacked.

She watched her arm reach out, grasp the doorknob, and open the door. The door opened with a smooth, silent motion. Drew saw her father.

No.

She saw a man with tubes carefully implanted in his bloodstream, IVs everywhere, monitors beeping quietly in the corners. She walked over to the clipboard left hanging on the end of the gurney to see if she could somehow decipher what was going on, but all of the knowledge she had received in her ten years of life couldn't wrap itself around interferon therapy or SCTs everywhere. She didn't know what it meant that her father didn't respond to the IT and wasn't yet in the risk for SCT. She didn't understand.

All she knew was that her father was dying.

Mark Tanaka had been only semiconscious when Drew walked in, but he had forced all of his focus to watch the girl he raised as a daughter. He smiled at her (or what passed for a smile now) and tried to say something to her.

"No, Dad," she said, trying to calm him down. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything."

Mark wanted to say something. He wanted to say something to her before he couldn't say anything anymore. His throat constricted and his tongue refused to move into the shapes that he wanted them to.

"Do you remember the story of the thousand cranes, Dad?" Drew whispered.

Yes, Drew, of course I remember.

"It said that if you folded a thousand cranes, you would be saved, right?"

Yes, Drew, it did.

"What if I folded a thousand cranes for you, Dad?" She asked, her voice thickening as she fought back tears that were welling up in her eyes. One finally grew too large and fell out of his eye, streaking down her cheek with a salty trace. The one in her other eye soon followed. "Would that help, Dad? Would that help more than all of the weird things the doctors want you to do?"

Why wouldn't it, Drew?

"I'll do it, Dad," she said, looking frantically about the room. She stumbled back to the clipboard and found some useless seeming document. "See, look," she said desperately. She tore off a square and began creasing it, preparing to fold it into the bird shape that was required. "See, watch, Dad, I'll help you get better!"

Of course you will, Drew.

May you never lose your innocence.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading~ Questions? Comments? Be sure to leave a review so I can answer anything you need me to.<br>**

**~Shriayle**


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